


Winter Fire

by Eanna23je



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dwarves in the Shire, Dwobbits, Eventual Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, F/M, Female Bilbo Baggins, M/M, Magical Hobbits, Male-Female Friendship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Thorin, Thorin Feels, Thorin Has No Sense Of Direction, Widowed Baggins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28909296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eanna23je/pseuds/Eanna23je
Summary: He was a blacksmith by trade and a king by birthright and Thorin knew no other way to live. The dreams had been what led him to seek his father’s path once more. What else could the dreams be but a sign? | The dream had been plaguing her again, the dream that did not belong to her, of this much she was certain. Yet no matter how hard she worked during the day to exorcise her inner demons, Bella Baggins could not escape dreams of fire and stone.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 30
Kudos: 70





	1. winter fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their endings.”
> 
> ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit, or There and Back Again
> 
> PART I: Of Dwarrow, Hobbits, and Chance Meetings

* * *

**⋅•⋅⊰∙∘** **PART I** **∘∙⊱⋅•⋅**

**ERIADOR** **T.A. 2935**

* * *

The stone hummed beneath his fingertips, a deep and persistent ache that rumbled up his arms and through his chest. 

_Come back,_ the stone whispered, _come home._

The stone was on fire and the waters beneath the mountain ran with the blood of his kin. 

He woke up screaming his mother’s name.

Rough hands had his arms pinned to the earth, and he forgot himself until the voice thundered overhead, “Thorin? Thorin, wake up!” 

His screams were caught in a choking gasp as Thorin opened his eyes. He gripped the arms pinning him down as he twisted his head, desperate to catch his bearings. 

“‘Twas only a dream, Thorin,” Dwalin’s words fell over him, blanketing him, grounding him just as surely as his friend’s hands at Thorin’s shoulders. 

Firelight drew his eye to the center of their camp, and Balin’s knowing gaze.

“Only a dream,” Thorin rasped, his grip flexing on Dwalin’s arms. 

“Aye,” his friend reassured.

Thorin blinked, grimaced, and glanced up at his oldest friend, his kin, and heart-brother. “I am myself again, Dwalin.”

Dwalin nodded, grief lines at his eyes easing as he released Thorin and settled back onto his pallet.

Thorin cast a quick glance over their camp one last time, grateful the other khazad in their company had not also awakened before catching Balin’s knowing gaze again over the fire. 

“The dream again, laddie?” his advisor’s gravelly voice came a soft rumble.

Thorin rubbed an absent hand over his fist. The pads of his fingers still burned with the memory of dragonfire. “Aye.”

Balin nodded, but kept his own counsel, and turned world-weary and wizened eyes to the forested hills around them.

 _Weather Hills… that is where we camped the night before,_ Thorin recalled. 

They had been journeying home, back to the Blue Mountains after yet another failed search to find his father. 

The final attempt, if the council of lords had anything to say on the matter. 

_“We need you_ here _, Thorin._ I _need you here, ruling as you are meant to be,”_ Dís had said. Threatened, really. And he couldn’t blame her.

But he couldn’t give up, either. Not since the dreams increased in frequency over the past year. Not so long as Thorin believed his father could still be alive.

He glared at the heavy signet ring on his finger and wondered, not for the first time, how it had come to this. The desolation of their home, the wandering years and fighting— _always fighting_ —to carve a new path through this world. 

The dreams had been what led him to force Dwalin and Balin to retrace their steps, and seek his father’s path once more. To at least _try_. He had not lost hope. What else could the dreams be but a sign? 

And now they were returning, three khazad less than they had left with—empty-handed.

Dwalin and Balin took out their pipes, having abandoned thoughts of sleep, and blew fresh trails of earthy smoke into the cool night. His oldest friends wouldn’t leave him to stew over his failures alone. Thorin winced as he turned and pulled his tobacco pouch from his pack. 

His muscles were sore from the most recent skirmish. He was getting too old for this life on the road. Far worse to think of what awaited him in the Blue Mountains, ruling over many his father had called petty khazad… The beginning of the end of Thrain’s hopes to reclaim their home, their legacy. Without his father, Thorin could not hope to unite the clans. Still, perhaps his sister had been right to call him home.

_“You have made a good life for us here, brother. Do not throw it all away to chase ghosts.”_

Thorin lit his pipe and looked to the stars. He was a blacksmith by trade and a king by birthright, and he knew no other way to live.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Bella dug her fingers into the cool soil of her garden at Bag End as she looked to the stars. She struggled to control her breathing and chewed her already ragged lip as she prayed, _Green Mother, please make them stop._

The dream had been plaguing her again, the dream that did not belong to her, of this much she was certain. Yet no matter how many sleepless nights she was forced to endure, no matter how hard she worked during the day to exorcise her inner demons, Belladonna Baggins II could not escape dreams of fire and stone. 

Even now, she felt the lingering heat beneath her skin. The dream did not come every night, thankfully, though the frequency had increased of late. She might not have minded the reprieve from her former nightmares, had it not been clear this was not _her_ dream. 

Bella laughed and gave in to the impulse to lay back among her violets and breathe in their fragrance. A year ago, she would have never thought it possible. How could she laugh after she’d lost everything that mattered in this world?

How could she dare smile at a world suddenly stripped of color and meaning and sweet touches and whispered voices saying, _“I love you, Mummy.”_

To lose everything should have been unthinkable in a place as perfect as the Shire. 

Bella’s laughter faded and she turned to the spot in her garden where she had laid her heart to rest. 

Many had lost loved ones during the Fell Winter when Bella was still a youngling. Her mother had saved Bella’s life through her skill and penchant for survival alone. But not Bungo. Even now, Bella wondered how her life may have differed, had Bungo Baggins lived past her tween years. 

The affluent Baggins clan had insisted on burying Bungo at the family plot, of course. That was the first graveside ceremony little Bella had attended. 

_“Don’t let them see you cry, little flower,”_ Belladonna had instructed with a stiff upper lip. 

Mother had survived the Fell Winter, this was true, but she was forever changed.

Bella had buried her mother in the garden she had loved, beneath the roots of the tree overlooking the home Bungo once built as a courting gift for his Took bride. 

Stems and damp soil bunched beneath Bella’s hands as she turned away from the three graves and closed her eyes.

 _“Look to the stars, love,”_ he used to tell her. 

She blinked up at the cloudless skies, her tears blurring the diamond-studded black. Her breath escaped in a heated puff and she knew she needed to go indoors. Winter was coming soon. 

Winter, with its memories of death and the emptiness of a house that felt more like a tomb than a smial. 

The stars gleamed cold and distant as the stone from the dream that didn’t belong to her. 

Bella scrambled to her feet with a hiss. “Enough,” she muttered as she left the memories and the longing to join the dead. 

Hobbits were not to dwell on their sorrows. A respectable Hobbit would find solace in kin, hearth, and freshly tilled earth. But Bella had never been known to be a respectable Hobbit. 

Her hand froze on the doorknob as she glanced at the pack waiting for her just inside the back door. Her grip tightened. 

Echoes of a child’s laughter haunted the empty halls of Bag End. Memories of warm touches, sweet kisses, laughter, and all the things taken from her…

 _“Don’t let them see your tears, Bella. You’re not just a Baggins, you’re a Took,”_ her mother once said.

Bella Baggins Brandybuck was forty-five years old, an orphaned only child, and a childless widow. And she didn’t want to be alone anymore. 

She dressed in her husband’s tunic, her mother’s trousers, and a sturdy pair of woolen socks and boots she’d purchased specially from Bree. 

_“That Bella Baggins has always been a bit odd,”_ the townsfolk used to say. 

Bella’s grimace turned into a smile as her husband’s voice came to her by lantern light. 

_“So what if you prefer shoes and you’re tall? I’ll have you know I happen to be a full three-quarter-inches taller than my brother Orgulas!”_

A wet laugh escaped her throat as she bound her hair up as best she could beneath her husband’s treasured cap. The itch in her un-Hobbit-like feet pushed her to stash what food she could think to grab on hand into her weathered pack. It was past time she left, before the sorrow caught up to her once more. 

“No more tears, Bella,” she whispered. 

The hood of her cloak framed her face well enough to cut the chill before dawn as Bella Baggins Brandybuck locked her door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome! I've long been a fan of the Hobbit fandom (and much longer Tolkien nerd). The idea for Winter Fire has been playing at the back of my mind for some time now. I swore to myself I'd finish all my other WIPs before starting something new (in a new fandom, no less). But here we are, lol. The first time I discovered a Hobbit fanfic was eveninglottie's "Where Wilder Hearts Roam." I couldn't help but picture Natalie Dormer the entire time and loved the idea of a female Bilbo ever after. I also have fallen in love with the way this fandom has taken the source material, Peter Jackson's interpretation, and Tolkien's Khuzdul notes, and created this amazing immersive inner meta. I am in awe of all of you, and apologize in advance for anything I potentially botch with my witterings ;) 
> 
> Because this isn't my top-priority project, I plan on writing Winter Fire in sections. The beginning will focus heavily on the "story before the story." I don't plan to simply retell The Hobbit. I'll be pulling from different material for this AU, but I hope you're excited to begin this journey as much as I am :) Whether you decide this is your cup of tea or not, thank you so much for reading!


	2. deathless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Home’s behind, the world ahead, and there are many paths to tread…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “A hunted man sometimes wearies of distrust and longs for friendship.”
> 
> ― J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

The battle lust was not as strong in him as it had been before, not as they were forced to flee their enemies for the fourth time since setting out from Ered Luin. 

Thorin’s cry sounded more of despair as he plunged _Deathless_ into the orc’s gullet. 

Nearby hacks and beastly yelps echoed the end of what he prayed would be the end of their battles. They were soon to come upon tamer lands, and not a day too soon. Thorin wasn’t sure he could handle more nights on the road, waking from dreams of dragonfire and his mother’s cries. 

Thorin stumbled on feet that were born to delve the deep, better suited to stone than spongy earth. He endured the uneven terrain as he endured cleaning his blade of black blood once more, as he had endured the frost that morning as they broke camp. He would endure far worse for less, in truth. More than Erebor, he wished for his father and the family they had lost. 

Frerin’s crooked smile filled his mind’s eye before Thorin could banish his brother’s memory. 

He grimaced as he leaned against a nearby tree and surveyed the remains of the small orc pack that had been hunting them. 

Dwalin roared as he pulled his axes, _Grasper_ and _Keeper_ from the warg’s skull, while Balin sought to gather their scattered belongings. The ponies had been lost in the last ambush in Dunland, along with their kin. 

Thorin ran a hand over his weary face and dreaded the task before him. 

Frerin hadn’t even been of age at the Battle of Azanulbizar. 

He looked to the sons of Fundin, who had lost as much as Thorin, and knew they could not continue like this. 

“We should split up,” he said upon catching his breath. 

“Thorin, no,” Dwalin growled. 

Balin, too, appeared startled at the suggestion. “Laddie, how can you suggest such a thing after this last attack?”

“He’s taken leave of his senses, brother,” Dwalin exclaimed.

Thorin grimaced as he forced his legs to steady on the wet earth. “We give them three trails to follow and thereby split their numbers further. We still don’t know how many are left of the original pack.”

“Aye, and _you_ don’t know how many lie in wait on the road ahead,” Dwalin argued. “I will nay abandon you, Thorin, king or no.”

Dwalin stumbled as Thorin surged forward into his space, throwing the taller khazad off-balance. “I’m not a king. And I will not see another of my kin suffer because of my foolishness.”

Dwalin’s shoulders slumped and he turned West with a clench of his bearded jaw. “Aye, then, as you wish, my prince.”

Balin sighed as he approached the life-long friends. Balin had been Thrain’s friend, and Thorin’s greatest teacher and advisor for years beyond count. His beard had turned white in the age since they’d been exiled from Erebor, but his grasp of Thorin’s shoulder was that of a much younger khazad. 

Thorin couldn’t bear to meet his eye, not after his outburst. Ever had his father despaired of the way Thorin allowed his emotions to get the better of him. 

_“A king must never betray his thoughts the way you do, boy. By Mahal, I vow you will find a way to temper that fire in your eyes, or I’ll find a way to bank it.”_

“Thorin.” Balin’s gravely voice drew him to the scent of death in the autumn air. “You know the lords will demand a ruling upon our return. This was our last chance to find living sign of your father, but without proof…” 

Thorin worked his jaw and sought to mask the pain in his voice, temper it with steel. “They would have me steal my father’s crown.”

“Nay, never steal, Thorin.” Balin shook Thorin’s shoulder until the prince was forced to meet his fierce gaze. “You are of the line of _Durin_ , laddie. You have been leading our people far longer than you care to admit. You _are_ ready.”

Dwalin had still not turned from the road ahead, yet he echoed his brother’s words with a low, “Aye.” 

Thorin shook his head but could say nothing more without insulting his oldest friends and kin. And so he covered Balin’s grasp with his free hand and squeezed as he replied, “Let us go home.”

_Home was the glittering gems shining high above the market streets of Erebor…_

Thorin pulled away from his cousin and returned _Deathless_ to its sheath, then hefted his pack over his shoulder. “We’ll split up. The path should be safer as we near Bree and the Shire. Use any time you need in the villages to find work.”

Dwalin flinched and scowled as he turned to settle his pack over his broad shoulders. “Thorin, you should take the Shire road. ‘Tis safest. Balin and I will go south-west.”

Balin shared a look with Thorin, but both knew better than to question the captain of the guard. Dwalin had long avoided the Shire road for reasons he refused to answer. 

Thorin nodded to his kin. There was much he could say, and much more that had already been said countless times. 

Balin bid him farewell in their father-tongue, _“Until he wakes again.”_

Pain lanced his heart to hear Dwalin echo with feeling, _“Until he wakes.”_

Thorin shifted the strap of his pack and focused on the clomp of his boots over rock and soft earth. The clouds broke into a cold rain and he pulled the cowl of his cloak over his head and made for Bree. 

He could never have predicted all that would come from a chance meeting with the Grey Wizard.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

By the time Bella reached Buckleberry Ferry, her courage had faded. The nearer she drew to her husband’s childhood home, so near the place they had first met, the heavier her heart sat within her chest. 

She had never been a wanderer before Belladonna’s death. In many ways, Bella had resented her mother’s constant need to be on the move. They were rarely able to rest in Bag End after the Fell Winter. 

_“Why must we go to Bree, Mother?”_ she would ask, though just as often it was Tuckborough, the White Downs, even once so far east as the Weather Hills. Bella had been too young and her feet ached without shoes until Belladonna purchased a pair in Bree.

 _“Too much like your father,”_ Mother would merely grumble in turn. 

Though from what Bella had seen of her Baggins relatives, she wasn’t so certain she agreed. 

Buckland had been the first trip Bella took after her mother’s death, in part because of the things Belladonna said of the Brandybucks. 

_“Mad fools, the lot of them, swimming like mer and half mad.”_

Bella blinked as she rested against the post by the unmanned ferry. Twilight had descended after another long day on the road. She sometimes forgot how vast the Shire was, even with legs as unnaturally long as hers.

She turned toward the road that would take her on to Buckland. The glow of lights peeking through the trees filled her with longing. 

The Brandybucks had taken her in with their delightfully outlandish ways. They hadn’t looked twice at her boots, or when she finally dared take them off in front of the family she was soon to marry into. 

She’d been happy with them. 

_They won’t want to see you, Bella._

The wood of the post pinched her palms and the pain was enough to pull her back to the ferry. 

_You learned to swim that summer. You can do this._

She had not left the boundaries of the Shire since…

“Go now,” she whispered. Her boots carried her onto the ferry, her hands caught the rope, and then the pole. Her husband’s voice played about in her head. 

_“You’re strong, Bella, I know you’re strong. Strong enough to push us across the river, strong enough to brave the Old Forest.”_

“I’ll be strong,” she muttered as the rain finally ceased. She left the distant lights of Buckland behind and only thought of the road ahead. 

She hummed a dimly remembered tune until she was across. “Home’s behind, the world ahead, and there are many paths to tread…”

The sun fully set at her back as she made camp by the Old Forest Road. 

_“The trees speak to us sometimes, Bella. The Old Forest is very old, older than anything in the Shire. Honor the trees, make no fire, and they will nay harm you.”_

Bella set her pack against the roots of an old oak settled onto the earth with a sigh. As un-Hobbit-like, as she often felt, she had inherited the gift of kinship with all of Yavanna’s creations. She couldn’t speak to the trees in the way Gorbadoc had seemed to, but she felt the welcome and comfort seep through the base of the oaken trunk she tucked into. 

She hummed the song her mother had taught her under her breath and prayed the dream would not return tonight. 

“Through shadow, to the edge of night, until the stars are all alight...”

Sleep claimed her, and though the old oak tried to gift Yavanna’s child with sweet dreams, the pull of another was far stronger. 

_Nainkhî rum,_ called the stone halls, _nainkhî rum!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! A quick head's up for anyone interested :) I've written most of what I'm calling "part one" already, and so aim to post a chapter a day until the first part is posted. Again, this isn't my priority WIP at the moment, so there will be a delay between parts. But I have my story outline mapped out, and my goal is to pen the majority of Winter Fire throughout this year. Wish me luck!


	3. ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin’s brow arched. “Do you expect me to believe the trees are...angry?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “False hopes are more dangerous than fears.”
> 
> ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Children of Húrin

_“Take back your homeland.”_

Thorin couldn’t shake the wizard’s words from his thoughts as he left Breeland behind and entered the Old Forest in the hours before dawn. He’d been unable to sleep that eve, too lost over thoughts of Erebor. What little sleep he had suffered at the inn was plagued with the same dreams. 

Only now, he moved with renewed purpose. After such a painful, pointless journey, for the first time in a hundred years, the wizard had given him reason to hope. 

He determined to press on through the forest until he came to the river. It was a far safer place to camp, and he could not shake the way the trees seemed to groan over the axe at his belt. 

Beneath the shadowed canopy, Thorin ruminated on all the wizard had alluded to. If he were to do as Tharkun suggested, call the meeting of the seven families, would it still be enough? Thorin wasn’t sure if he was a fool to trust in the words of the wizard, not when Tharkun had failed his father. 

_Or did Thrain fail himself?_ Came the traitorous thought. 

Durinsons were not known for their humility, he conceded with a grimace. 

The wood creaked and the path seemed to narrow ahead. Thorin glanced to either side of the road, Tharkun’s warning fresh on his mind. The bounty in black speech was another matter entirely, one he was grateful his kin had not been present to witness.

Thorin’s fingers shifted to rest over the hilt of the axe at his belt. 

The trees shifted on an invisible wind, leaning closer over the path. 

He was beginning to regret his lack of sleep. Was this his paranoia, or some magic of the Old Forest his people had been unaware?

Thorin frowned as leaves stirred and the forest seemed to angrily whisper. 

The branches brushed over his head, only to suddenly retreat as a cool hand covered his.

“Don’t,” a gently lilting voice followed. “They don’t like axes.”

Thorin tensed and snarled at the way the trees continued to sway and creak. “What enchantment is this?”

The hand had not left his, but the raspy voice warmed with laughter. “Certainly not of a dwarf’s making.” 

Thorin frowned as he reluctantly lowered his wary gaze to the stranger before him. A stout brown cloak masked most of their features, but for shadows in the din. The top of their head barely reached his chin, but the grasp at his hand was strong. 

Thorin’s brow arched. “Do you expect me to believe the trees are...angry?” 

A soft laugh answered him, but the hand at his wrist eased its grip. “Believe what you want. But if you didn’t already suspect magic, why did you speak of enchantment?”

Thorin frowned as the stranger took a step back. The wind tugged at their cloak, then stilled completely. There was...something odd about the stranger, as though they had been fashioned of the same magic he felt of the forest. Thorin did not trust magic, and with good reason. 

_First the wizard, now this?_

Magic or no, Thorin couldn’t shake the feeling he should feel indebted to this stranger. He lowered his hand from his side, and the forest seemed to sigh. Midday sun peeked through the canopy and lit upon the stranger. “Who are you?”

The stranger shifted on their feet and hefted their satchel further up their back. “I am… unaccustomed to conversing with strange dwarrows on the road. Perhaps we should simply shake hands and say well met?” 

Thorin’s frown deepened, masking his surprise. Few knew the proper way to address his people.

The small hand rose to hover between them. The fingers were slender but thicker than he was expecting. Strong, he recalled, with the sudden urge to test that strength again. 

Thorin took the stranger’s hand in his and met a firm grasp. “You claim I am a stranger, yet why should you help any dwarf? You are clearly not of men, and I confess I am curious.”

The stranger attempted to pull away, but Thorin held firm. “C-curious?” 

Thorin hummed at the back of his throat and felt a prick of amusement, the way the stranger shifted on the balls of their feet, as though to run. Were this an assassin, Thorin suspected they would have taken their chance during his distraction. 

His mind was made up the moment he released their hand and noted the soft skin between calluses. He lifted his chin. “As it so happens, I find myself weary of strangers, and in need of companionship. Should you find the idea agreeable, I propose we share the road through the forest.”

“Through the forest?” The stranger echoed.

Thorin’s mouth quirked at the corners into a rare smile. “Aye. You do profess to be quite proficient at navigating its enchantment.”

The stranger ducked their head and cleared their throat. A young male? Perhaps one of the Hobbits he had occasionally come across by this same road. 

The brown hood had masked their features so far, and Thorin found his curiosity grow as they turned first the way he had come, then the road ahead with a sigh. “I suppose I shouldn’t leave you alone.” They hesitated, the shadows lifting enough for him to glimpse a pointed chin. “The trees will have spread the word about your axe by now.”

A deep chuckle escaped his smile. When had he started smiling? 

The stranger was smiling too as they inclined their head. “We have an accord. Shall we continue, master dwarf?” 

Thorin’s laughter faded but his smile didn’t entirely fade as the stranger fell in line beside him to walk the road. He felt a lightening in his chest, and pressed a hand against the source of the pleasant pain. “Aye, so long as you give me a name by which to call you, friend.” 

The stranger paused and their hands twitched before tangling together before them. “Bella Brandybuck, at your service.” 

Thorin held his breath and stared hard at the stranger’s hood. His first instinct had been correct, along with his desire to ascertain his new companion’s safety. “Frerin, at yours” he replied and his lips thinned with the lie. 

The bounty for his head loomed at the back of his mind, and he decided it was better to lie to this Bella, rather than risk her by association.

The stranger—Bella—nodded. “By your leave, Mister Frerin.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Bella eyed the dwarf beside her as carefully as she dared. All the while, the voice in her head, which sounded too like her mother, continued to berate her rash decisions. 

_What were you thinking, stepping out of the forest like that? You should have left him alone! He very nearly pulled his axe, and the trees wouldn’t have spared you._

Bella’s grip on the strap of her pack tightened. “Yes, they would,” she muttered.

 _What possessed you to even speak to him? You are no warrior, Bella._

“Sorry?” the dwarf— _Frerin_ —said.

Bella’s head jerked up and she nearly tripped in her sturdy boots. “What?”

“Did you not speak?” Startling blue eyes caught hers through the shadow of her cloak. His world-weary eyes had been what made her agree to come. 

Bella snorted and she nearly pushed back her curls before realizing she was still clinging to what remained of her anonymity. “No, I was...that is…” She let her hand flop back to her side, brushing against the hilt of the dagger her mother had insisted she carry years ago. “I’m afraid I’ll be poor company. I haven’t spent much time in polite society for some time.” 

His bearded mouth quirked up again in that ghost of a smile as he returned his focus on their road. “Perhaps we could practice together, then.” 

Bella was grateful for her cloak as she blinked rapidly and tried not to panic. She wasn’t good at this—conversation. She had always been a little odd, and since Gorbadoc… 

“Together,” she replied as she retraced her steps. 

The funny thing about Frerin’s suggestion was they didn’t practice. Not right away, at least. 

For quite some time, Bella and Frerin retraced her path she had just taken earlier than morning. 

She had awoken from sleep after mostly peaceful dreams for a change, and therefore felt refreshed and ready for her venture to Breeland. Something about sleeping under the stars, away from the Shire, had been liberating. 

She hadn’t intended to stop again until she made it through the Old Forest road, until she saw the trees looming over the frightened dwarrow. Bella made a habit to hide before strangers could find her first. It was safer, after all. She was no warrior, and the metal hanging off the dwarf, aside from his stern demeanor, had been enough to show he wasn’t the sort to be trifled with. 

Bella picked at the dirt under her fingernails and wondered why she had stepped in to help him. Her limbs were already weary from so much walking, after months of so little activity. And he had _teased_ her with her warning of the trees. With her keen Hobbit sight, she’d caught the flash of fear in his azure eyes. 

She slowly reached to tug her hood back a fraction more, enough so she could catch the stern line of his brow. 

His thoughts had clearly turned inward as well, and it struck Bella that she somehow trusted this dwarf. Her cheeks ached as her face split into a rare wide smile. 

Frerin’s gaze flickered to her and then his eyes widened as he must have seen her expression. 

“Oh,” Bella gasped as she reached to catch her cowl, only for a large, too-warm hand to stop its ascent. 

“Don’t,” Frerin grunted. Their steps slowed and Bella held her breath as he inclined his head, adding, “You need not fear me, Miss Brandybuck.” 

Her smile fell and she ducked her head. “Actually, it’s Ms...” Some of her curls spilled from her hood, catching the afternoon light. 

Frerin released her hand as though her skin burned to the touch. “I—forgive me, Ms. Brandybuck, I did not mean to presume…”

“I’m a widow,” she interrupted. 

Frerin did not breathe for a moment. 

Unable to stand the silence, Bella moved on ahead. 

Frerin was quick to catch up. 

The comfortable quiet from before felt stifled and awkward. Bella blinked back fresh tears. 

_Why did you say anything, little fool? He didn’t need to know that!_

“For what it’s worth, Ms. Brandybuck, I am truly sorry for your loss.” 

Frerin’s solemn, yet sincere words pierced her like a blade through the heart. 

“Thank you,” she managed while worrying her bottom lip. 

They continued on in stilted silence. Even the forest seemed to hold its breath. 

More curls dislodged with the shake of her head and Bella released a frustrated sigh as she shoved back the cowl of her cloak and pulled her braid free. 

A strange sound escaped the dwarf as he stomped back a step, as though startled. 

Bella’s lips thinned as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Look, I’m sorry for that back there. I don’t—it happened three years ago.” She ran a hand over her wet cheeks. 

Frerin’s fists clenched at his sides and the forest held its breath, eager to listen. 

“Gorbadoc and our son fell to the winter fever at the same time…” The words would not come, not with her throat thickening and tears continuing to spill past her cheeks. 

The crunch of his boots and heat at her back made the dwarrow’s approach known. She only breathed after he caught her shoulder with his warm hand. “Bella,” his voice was strained, as though he felt her pain, “please do feel you must explain yourself to me. Not if it will cause you greater sorrow.” 

She smiled and covered his hand with hers. Every breath she drew was like the first, as though she’d been drowning for an age. “No,” she choked on a wet laugh, “I want to. I never speak about them, and…” Bella drew in a shaken breath. “I _need_ to speak if you will permit me.”

Frerin squeezed her shoulder. “I am here.”

Bella tilted her chin to catch the sun’s rays. “Bilbo was only three. My husband took ill while caring for him. I didn’t get sick at all. He…Gorbadoc did not live for long after we buried our son. And…I came on this journey because I am so _tired_ of living with ghosts.”

Frerin’s thumb brushed against her shoulder blade and she took another desperate breath. But when she tried to summon the words, to tell this kind stranger the rest of the bitter truth, all she saw was the guarded and pitying glances everyone in the Shire gave her. Not to mention the ones that looked at her accusingly…

The dwarf took another step closer and hung his head, so she could feel the puff of his breath at the back of her neck. Shivers laced her spine as he spoke. “I cannot fathom the loss of a child, let alone your One. But I do understand what it is to lose everything you claim to love. I, too, carry my ghosts with me, Mistress Brandybuck. In this, we are much alike.”

Bella turned with a smile and glanced up at him through wet lashes. “If that be the case, I truly hope you find whatever it is you are looking for, Mister Frerin. Perhaps then you may lay your ghosts to rest.” 

An inscrutable look passed over the stern dwarf’s visage, and her nerves continued to tingle, though he was no longer touching her. It had been so long since she’d allowed anyone to touch her.

“Aye,” he rasped out. 

Bella’s smile grew and she thrust her hand out foolishly. “Shall we shake on it? A promise between strangers?” 

Frerin’s mouth ticked up at the corner as his hand passed hers to grasp her forearm. Bella’s neck tilted to meet his gaze as she grasped what felt like coated steel. 

“A promise between friends,” he corrected.


	4. friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He still wasn’t sure what he thought he’d seen in the trees before her sudden appearance. She moved softly, despite the sensible boots covering her feet. She had appeared like a specter to warn him, like the legends of old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Fear both the heat and the cold of your heart, and try to have patience, if you can.”
> 
> ― J.R.R. Tolkien, Unfinished Tales of Númenor and Middle-Earth

Thorin did not make friends and was not certain if those he held claim to did not remain out of duty. Thorin knew he was not an easy khazad to live with. He could scarcely live with himself. 

_Friend,_ he dared claim Bella Brandybuck, because her tale had moved him beyond reason. Because he felt the echoing pangs of loss he knew all too well. Because, from the moment she unveiled herself, he had been awestruck. 

Not because she was beautiful. Thorin had encountered countless women of all races over the years, and in his youth, taken comfort from their beds. A king could not carry on so, however, and since Thrain’s disappearance, that desire Thorin once knew had died. 

He had thought himself immune to such base distractions in his old age. 

Until he saw Bella. 

He still wasn’t sure what he _thought_ he’d seen in the trees before her sudden appearance. She moved softly, despite the sensible boots covering her feet. She had appeared like a specter to warn him, like the legends of old. 

Truly, this venture could not have become stranger, between the wizard and the widow. He winced as a sharp pain pricked his chest, between his shoulder blades. It had been coming off and on in waves since her unintended confession, along with his guilt. 

Far worse still, she had torn her hood aside to finally face him, and he had done little better than to gape like an enamored dwarfling. 

_“So, you are a Hobbit?”_ he had asked after his claim to her friendship.

A thick, yet delicate auburn eyebrow had risen in disbelief. _“Yes, of course, I’m a Hobbit.”_

Thorin found little occasion, after so many years in Middle-Earth, to feel so unsettled. 

No, Bella was not what most of his kin considered beautiful, but he found himself unable to look away for long, regardless.

Some of her features were almost masculine, from her firm brow and chin, even something in her bearing was very like a dwarrowdam. And yet…her wide smile, amber eyes, and thickly braided curls made her unique. And startlingly familiar. It was impossible, of course. He _couldn’t_ have known her before. Yet some of her features made him wonder. 

Why did Dwalin avoid the road through the Shire?

“What? Is there dirt on my face?”

Her lilting voice called his attention across the tiny makeshift camp they had created along the banks of the river. Her fingers had paused in re-braiding her waist-length curls.

Thorin blinked and grimaced as he pulled his gaze to those brilliant amber eyes. “No, forgive me for staring,” he managed to reply.

“Can’t say I have that problem at home,” she said with a soft laugh and wry tilt of her wide, expressive mouth. “Then again, I suppose you’ve not had many dealings with my people, have you?” 

“Unfortunately, no.” Suddenly desperate to busy himself, Thorin pulled his tinderbox from his pack and approached the space between them.

“Stop.” Her hand seized his wrist. “We can’t make a fire this near the forest.”

Thorin glanced up through his lashes and his breath caught as he realized how little space lay between them. Much about her was indeed delicate, as the Hobbits he’d occasionally seen. Yet there was a certain squareness to her features, a strength in her grip which made him doubt. 

Bella’s amber eyes faintly glowed in the twilight as they darted over the trees at their backs. 

Thorin couldn’t help prodding. “Shall the trees swallow us from even here?” His amusement rose as she favored him with an unimpressed glare. 

Bella’s decidedly Hobbit-like nose scrunched up as she released him and settled back on her haunches. “Just because you’ve lived half an age, doesn’t mean you know everything, Master Frerin.” 

His smile fell and his knuckles turned white as he pushed back the urge to ask her to call him by his true name. 

_She’ll never be safe if you do._

He met her glare and the urge to protect his new friend fanned to a greater flame.

Ignoring the irrational urge, Thorin settled to return his kit and remove his bedroll. It wasn’t safe to sleep in the open without a fire, yet he felt better with the forest behind them, and the river ahead. 

And he couldn’t seem to look away from the heavy sway of the thick braid draped over her shoulder as Bella crouched over her own bedroll. Her nose twitched as she surveyed the material and with a faint sigh, she settled on it, before reaching again into her pack.

Thorin was well-versed in watching people without their knowledge. He sensed she was not unfamiliar with travel, yet something had clearly unsettled her. He hoped it was not because of him. For all her smiles and promises, she had been somewhat awkward since her confession hours before. He wasn’t sure what compelled him to break the silence now.

“As we cannot make a fire, would you care to share some of my supper? Apologies for the poor state. I was in a hurry when I left the inn.” He opened the kerchief he’d wrapped around what he scrounged from the Prancing Pony before sunrise.

Bella’s lips tipped up at the corners in a smile. “Only if you’ll share in some of mine.” 

Both scooted to the edge of their bedrolls. 

Their pallets were closer than Thorin had been aware.

But the pleasant warmth had returned to his chest, and his mouth fell open to see the over-abundance of food his companion unveiled in her lap. “How were you carrying all of this?”

Bella snorted and wordlessly began trading portions with him. “I _am_ a Hobbit, Frerin.”

Thorin inclined his head as they began to eat. 

“This is good,” he murmured between bites. 

“Not half so good as it should be. According to my mother, I have an appalling lack of skill in anything but baking and curing meats.” She shrugged and peered at the trees with her luminous eyes. 

He forced his gaze from her and teased, “Perhaps we should pay your mother a visit, so I might offer a second opinion.”

Bella’s hand froze halfway to her mouth and she ducked her head, auburn curls spilling free of her loose braid. “Ten years too late for that, I’m afraid.” 

Thorin looked to the stars and repressed his groan. “Forgive me, I spoke carelessly,” he began.

“No!” Her vehemence startled him into her earnest gaze. She reached between them, her touch a cool fire at his hand. “It’s not your fault I have no family to speak of.” She smiled in a poor attempt at levity.

 _“I truly hope you find whatever it is you are looking for,”_ she’d said to him that afternoon. She’d given him her tale but asked him nothing in return. 

She pulled away and this time Thorin let her. She was still a stranger to him.

This didn’t lessen the feeling he had known her for far longer. 

“So, you live alone then?” He winced at his callous words. No respectable woman would answer a stranger thus. 

Bella snorted and quickly wiped at her cheeks as she settled on her bedroll, stuffing her empty kerchief into her pack. “Not that it’s any of your business, Master Frerin…” She glanced to catch his abashed eye.

“We have established I have had little practice with conversation.” Thorin rubbed a hand over his face. 

Her unexpected giggle lightened his heavy heart. “Aye, bundle full of social niceties and conventions, you are.” 

“I have been on the road perhaps too long. And, in truth, I never did fancy conventions. I prefer honesty to pretty words.”

Bella watched the stars with an increasingly somber expression. “Will you not lie down? We are near enough to the Shire to be protected. Rangers patrol the borders, you know.”

Thorin turned to her in surprise. Most Hobbits he had known of were soft, naïve creatures. It was easy to see why they required protection. Bella Brandybuck was decidedly different. 

And though it was the height of foolish stupidity, and Thorin knew what Dwalin would say on the matter, he turned to settle beneath his cloak and mirrored her pose on his pallet. 

They watched the passing of the full moon for a time together.

“Frerin?” Bella whispered into the cool, peaceful night. 

“Hmm?” Thorin’s eyes already felt heavy, yet he forced his lids open to peer over at her guarded face. 

“I’ve heard of dwarrows coming to work in the Shire in the past. Most of my mother’s best pots and knives came from a smith of your people, and, well, I wondered…” 

She blew out a breath and Thorin held back a smile, even as his suspicions grew. 

“I don’t know your business, and I won’t ask. But if you’re looking for work, I happen to own a forge in Hobbiton you’d be welcome to use. If you like.” 

She wouldn’t look at him and good thing too. The ache was back in his chest, and he could almost hear his father’s voice in his head again, berating him, _“Never forget your duty, Thorin.”_

_“Call a meeting of the seven dwarf clans,”_ the wizard had urged. 

Thorin pressed a fist to his chest. He had left Bree with every intention of finding the fastest route home. There was little enough time to make plans before the first snows fell. Now he longed to do nothing more than to accept her offer without question. 

As the silence thickened, Bella turned a wary eye and groaned, “I’m sorry, I—”

“Aye,” Thorin interrupted, blinking rapidly. 

Bella held her breath and even in the moonlight, he clearly saw her crooked smile. “Sorry, you agree?”

Thorin choked on his laugh and then he was the one unable to meet her eye. “My people are not met with much kindness beyond our own halls. In less than a day, you have shown greater kindness to one of us than I have seen in a hundred years.” 

“Oh.” She should not sound so surprised, not when she was the one doing _him_ this unbearable kindness. Had she expected him to say no outright?

Thorin fought to slow his racing pulse with deeper breaths. “I—that is to say—I should like to discuss your offer further in the morning, Mistress Brandybuck.” 

“I see… That is very good of you.” She blinked owlishly at him, then added, “Oh! I almost forgot. If you do accept my offer, you would be most welcome to take lodgings in my home, Master Frerin. If you like.” 

He dipped his head in a slight bow. “Thank you.”

Bella settled into her bedroll with a contented sigh. “Until the morrow, Frerin.”

“Until the morrow,” he breathed.

_Bella._

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

_The cavern was deep, but the darkness not impossible to see. Even in shadows of the unlit forge, the walls gleamed with ores and gems and intricately carved lines. Something about the patterns called to her, just as the stone called to her._

_Just as she couldn’t escape the sound of screams and cries as dragonfire blackened the halls in a sudden torrent of flames._

_Her skin slowly melted off her bones. The screams drew nearer. She couldn’t stop her tears, even as they dried over flaking skin._

She woke with a cry on her lips, the echo of that cry at her side. 

She came aware suddenly, painfully, blinking at the fading stars and wiping a hand to clear the sweat from her face, her chest heaving. 

Bella turned to find her companion staring at her with cooling panic in his shadowed gaze. 

Concern flared in her chest and she nearly reached to touch his arm as she had foolishly done—not once—but _thrice_ the day before. “Are you all right?” she whispered.

Frerin’s brows drew together in a crease, but he managed a nod. 

Bella settled back into her bedroll with a groan. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t,” came his rumbling reply. 

Bella desperately tried to banish the dream and inwardly cursed the bastard who couldn’t keep their dream to themselves. She still wasn’t sure what magic caused this, or if it _was_ magic. She couldn’t be certain this wasn’t a product of an ailing mind, and the fear of that kept her awake more nights than she cared to admit. If things did not improve soon, she had half a mind to go looking for her mother’s old wizard friend and demand answers. 

“Are you often plagued with nightmares?” His voice, always sounded a deep, rumbling velvet to her ears, was much subdued.

She worried her lower lip as she turned her head to face him, taking in the haunted look in his weary face. “You too?” 

Frerin’s short beard better masked his face in the light just before dawn. “Aye.” 

They lay awake, unwilling and unable to go back to sleep. 

Bella considered asking after his dream, but she gathered Frerin wouldn’t fancy reliving his nightmares either. 

With another terse sigh, she sat up and surveyed their undisturbed camp. Birds heralded the coming sun already. “Well,” she huffed, “there’s nothing for it.” 

“Mistress Brandybuck?”

Bella rolled her eyes. “Please, call me Bella. And unless you want to feign sleep another hour, perhaps we’d best get an early start.”

Frerin’s groan sounded so much younger than his usual grave demeanor, Bella had to smile. She had never met anyone quite like this dwarf, and the fact he suffered nightmares as well gave her unexpected comfort. For the first time in years, she didn’t feel as alone.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Thorin walked alongside Bella through the Shire with new eyes. Always before, he had kept his head down, unable to bring himself to see the Hobbits’ obvious prosperity. 

Bella gave him no choice but to follow the direction of her hand as she pointed out various landmarks and childhood haunts. His Hobbit had apparently been quite adventurous in what she called her “tweens.” 

Thorin’s dreams of dragonfire and screams had faded by the time they reached Hobbiton. 

“And over there, that’s the forge I told you about,” she said with a proud tilt of her head. 

“Hmm.” Thorin’s attention fixed on the curls the wind tugged free of her thick brain. 

“Frerin?” Her firm brow furrowed with frustration. 

Thorin shook off the lingering echo of familiarity. An uncanny resemblance, nothing more. Even if she was the only Hobbit he’d seen to wear shoes of any kind. 

“The forge?” he managed. 

Bella smiled and led him to the abandoned building. “I know it could use a bit of work. Unfortunately, not many Hobbits find pleasure in the craft, and we claim nothing so grand as your people’s talent.” 

Thorin couldn’t help but straighten at the praise as he walked around the bellows. He ran a casual finger over the dead coals. “This has been used within the last month.”

Bella tucked her lower lip between her teeth and Thorin abruptly turned his back to her as she replied, “Yes, well… that was my latest poor attempt.”

He reeled again at her confession. “You have a craft?”

She shifted on her booted feet and ducked her head. She was taller than most of the Hobbits he’d seen, too…

“I’m not any good. Never really had a teacher, you see. So, I…” She waved her hands in a helpless gesture. “I taught myself. Enough to mend things, you see. Folks come to me from time to time.” She held up a finger. “But I’m no master, and as you can see, we’re in dire need of professional work.” She smoothed her hands over her trousers and hid her smile. “If you’re willing to accept, that is.” 

Since meeting Bella Brandybuck, he had been faced with all manner of strange and unsettling impulses and emotions. Thorin had left Bree, set on the quest for reclaiming Erebor. After the dream, he knew it still to be his destiny, no matter how much he may wish for otherwise. No matter how much he still preferred to reclaim his father, rather than a mountain. No matter how he longed to claim her invitation and stay for as long as her door remained open to him.

Thorin’s hand slipped into a pouch he had left untouched since leaving Ered Luin. “I regret I am unable to accept your offer at the present. I have already been away from my kin for too long and mustn’t tarry.” 

He paused and relished the disappointment pulling at her animated face. “However,” he spoke again quickly before she could withdraw further, “if it isn’t too much of an imposition—I should like to write to you from time to time, Bella.”

“You would?” Her hands hung loosely to either side. “I mean, of course, you may, Mister Frerin. Here, let me give you my address.” She darted back to the pack she’d left by the forge entrance and proceeded to dig through its contents with much grumbling. 

Thorin followed and dared step closer, to reach out a hand just over the braid trailing down her back. Loose hairs brushed tantalizingly against his callouses.

“Here we are. Knew I had a piece of charcoal left over…” 

He clenched his hand into a fist and leaned back as she arose. 

Bella opened a loose-leafed leather-bound book, turning past half a dozen sketches before she reached a clean page. 

Thorin watched her draw her letters with a practiced hand. “Do you draw as well, Mistress Brandybuck?” 

Bella glanced quickly from him to the page. “About as well as I smith, Master Frerin. Here, will this do?”

Thorin took the paper in one hand and felt his mouth tugging up at the corners as he glanced over her fluid script. “It shall serve well. Thank you.” He quickly folded the paper into a small square, tucking it in the pouch he had recently emptied. 

She nodded and began to right her belongings when he caught her free hand with his. Wide amber eyes met his as Thorin placed his token into her cool palm. 

“You have shown me great kindness when I have found very little in the world, Bella. I should very much like you to keep this as a token of my thanks, and as a favor. Should you ever need anything from my kin, show them this and they will aid you without question.” 

Bella blinked past tears and Thorin allowed himself to squeeze her hand before letting go. He wanted to catch her tears with his hands. He wanted to draw her into his arms and promise her she would never be alone again. He wanted…

“I am glad to have met you, Frerin.” Her raspy voice thickened with unshed tears, yet she smiled as she clutched the rune-inscribed stone to her chest. 

Thorin smiled. “And I you…Bella.” 

They stood opposite one another, uncaring of the curious titterings of the passing locals. 

Thorin made a careful study of her amber eyes, the way her mouth curled in disbelief and surprise at his gesture, and how her curls ever-sought to break from her confined braid. He sought to memorize her, for with Gandalf’s instruction a looming shadow over his shoulder, Thorin was uncertain if they would meet again. 

They did not say goodbye.

Thorin pretended this wasn’t an ending, but rather a beginning.

Bella gripped the stone in her hand to ground her to the Frerin’s promise and wondered if he would keep to his word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I said yet, how much I love writing these two? I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! Next, we have letters from Thorin <3


	5. letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your friend, 
> 
> Frerin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “You can only come to the morning through the shadows.”  
> ― J.R.R. Tolkien

The leaves began to fall by the time Frerin’s first letter reached Bag End. The postmaster of Hobbiton was quite flummoxed by the return address, and much of the village puzzled over Bella Baggins Brandybuck’s mysterious letter ever after.

_Dear Mistress Brandybuck,_

_I trust this letter finds you well and safe in your Hobbit hole. I have often recalled our unexpected meeting in the forest and found myself more wary of trees. Fortunately, my home is made of sensible stone, a fact I find new appreciation for since our acquaintance._

_In our time apart, I have also come to realize how little we truly shared about our lives. Perhaps this has some bearing on why I asked for your address. I hope you will not find too much fault with my poor penmanship, or my lack of skill. I have not had the luxury to lead the life of a scholar, but I find myself willing to try. And so, I will begin by telling you all I have wished to share since our parting._

_You guessed correctly, I am a blacksmith by trade, but a weaponsmith by passion. Dwarrow take our craft seriously. Some of us dedicate our lives to love of craft above all else. Therefore, I do not think it something you should neglect, only because you haven’t had the proper education. Draw and smith as much as you like, and worry not what others say or think._

_So few of my people have the time to devote their attention to the craft of their passions. Too many of us struggle to provide for our families in Ered Luin. We hope for a better future, where we may be free to pursue what we long for. Until that day, we do as we must._

_You owe me nothing, but if the kinship I felt with you is true, I hope you take my words to heart. I hope you do not spend your days alone in your home, or on the road. Hone your beloved craft, Bella, and wait until I can send dwarrow to you that may offer you proper instruction._

_On that note, I confess I have not kept your confidence too well. I found myself speaking of our encounter and your offer to my kin soon upon arriving. They are keen to meet the Hobbit lass who has shown unexpected and unasked for kindness to their kinsman. If you would be amenable, I would ask you allow them the same courtesy you showed me. You would not have only my thanks, but my people’s, should you open your forge to the Longbeards of Ered Luin._

_If you please, I would also hear of your news. How have you found the changing seasons? I trust you have not attempted another venture beyond the protected borders of the Shire. I should not presume to dictate your actions, Bella. Still, it would please me and allow me better sleep at night if I knew you were not wandering the Old Forest alone._

_My sister tells me this letter is too long already, and so I shall bid you farewell for the present._

_I eagerly await your reply._

_Your friend,_

_Frerin_

She would never tell Frerin how much that first letter meant to her. Not how she memorized it by candlelight after re-reading it following every nightmare. Nor the hours when her grief came too near and she clenched his stone until her palm ached. 

She did not write directly, though she couldn’t say why. Perhaps because she had not accomplished as much as he seemed to expect. She was not the brave, daring adventurer she had led him to believe on the Old Forest Road. She was not nearly so talented as he implied. She was just…Bella. And everyone who’d ever loved her had abandoned her, one way or another. Eventually, Frerin would too.

On the morrow, following the anniversary of Gorbadoc’s death, Bella woke from sleeping upon two graves in her back garden, shivering and covered in frozen dew. 

“Serves you right,” she hissed while attempting to fix a pot of stew for her aching throat. 

Frerin’s letter sat heavily in her pocket, and it was with a slightly trembling hand and heavy heart that Bella finally chose to write him back. 

_Dear Frerin,_

_Forgive my belated reply. I have been a bit under the weather. To answer your question on the turning seasons…I am not fond of winter. The worst moments of my life occurred on or around Winter Solstice. This year proved worse than the year before, as I am ill, by no fault but my own foolishness. That being said, I have found great comfort in your letter, and find myself re-reading it as the nights grow long. Should I have said that? I feel like I shouldn’t have said that._

_While we truly know little of one another, I feel like I don’t need to explain myself further to you. I am grateful for that, for you and our friendship. I hope to do service to the great honor you’ve shown me._

_The stone you gave me is inscribed with markings I have never seen in any library, and I hoped you might share their meaning. I once had a great love of languages and learning. You said in your letter that you have had little time for scholarly pursuits. I would love to hear more of your craft, should you care to share. Tell me what it is you do in your idle hours, and perhaps I will do the same._

_You will find me silly, no doubt, but I think about you often. Although we had never met before, I, too, felt the kinship you mentioned. As though we had met in another life, perhaps? If that is the case, I must have driven you to an early grave due to my ceaseless prattling. You claimed you prefer honesty, so you must tell me when my mouth runs away with me._

_As to the other matter of your kin, please do send them on their way to Bad End as you please. I find myself suddenly eager for excellent company and more of the courage your words have gifted me. I hope I can endeavor to be as brave as you, Frerin._

_Have you found what you were looking for, yet?_

_Your friend,_

_Bella_

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

His reply came as quickly and safely as possible. That is to say, it was not a Hobbit who delivered Frerin’s letter to Bella’s door, but rather a dwarf.

She froze in the open doorway, ignorant of the bitter winds and gaped at the sheer size of the stranger at her doorstep. Her breath caught in her throat as she quickly took in his strong features—long beard, bald, tattoos, piercing eyes, armed-to-the-teeth.

“Dwalin,” he spoke, “at your service.” If Frerin’s voice had been the distant rumble of velvet thunder, Dwalin’s was the crash of lightning against the rocks. 

Bella blinked, drew in a deep breath and bowed her head as he had done to her. “Bella Brandybuck, at yours.” 

Dwalin’s thick eyebrows pulled into a stern line, but something in his eyes shifted as his gaze darted over her features. As though he searched for something the same way Frerin had seemed to. “I’ve brought your letter.”

“Oh, yes! Of course.” Bella blinked and sputtered as she opened her door farther. “Forgive me, please come in. You are most welcome, Mister Dwalin.” 

“Just Dwalin, if ye please,” he rumbled as he stomped past her. 

Bella pushed hard against the wind until the door clicked shut. Turning, she then slowly approached where Dwalin stood frozen at her entry, his fist clenching and releasing at his side reflexively. 

When she rounded to face him, he glanced at her as though startled, and some of the lines eased about his face. “Dwalin, I’ve not yet made supper, but my pantry is well-stocked. Perhaps you would like me to show you to your room while I put on a pot of stew?” 

Dwalin blinked and his brow rose. “My room?”

Bella laughed sheepishly. “Yes…you’ll forgive my presumption, but… Well, since Frerin’s last letter, I’ve kept a spare room ready, just in case. And I’m very glad I did. You’re most welcome, Mister Dwalin, for as long as you’d like.” 

His mouth parted and his shoulders slumped as he replied in a far gentler tone, “Ye are too kind, Mistress Brandybuck.”

“Please, call me Bella.” She held her hand out for his cloak. 

_Dear Bella,_

_I cannot tell you how grateful I was to receive your letter. As you have opened the door to frank confessions, a practice I prefer in truth, I have been most anxious of your reply. When you did not write immediately, I strongly considered sending Dwalin ahead to check on you. Of course, I do not mean to imply you are under any obligation to reply at all. Yet I consider you my friend, Bella. I pray you will forgive my worry and blame it only on account of my great age you were so kind to point out._

_As I have no doubt you have already welcomed Dwalin into your home, I regret I could not better prepare you for his arrival. However, I can promise you he is a dwarf of honor, and like a brother to me. He also happens to be an accomplished weaponsmith. Little doubt the Shire will have such a need as of yet. However, he can mend pots, pans, and gardening equipment just as well. And should you consent, I have asked Dwalin to give you any instruction you should wish in your craft._

_Please let me know if I give any offense. I am well aware our peoples are divided by different cultures and ways. But in the short time we shared together, I saw much to admire, and indeed, a love for your craft I well understand. Would, that I could give that which you miss most. As we cannot change the past, I implore you to think on the present instead. Enjoy the good company you requested. Ask Dwalin the history and legends of our people. He may appear unwilling, but I happen to know he loves spinning a good tale.  
  
_

_Were I not in such haste to send this letter along with my kin, I would tell you more of my craft and pleasures. And so I shall write again, in hopes my next letter finds you happy and in good spirits and health. Please send your reply soon.  
_

_Your friend,_

_Frerin_

  
  
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Four days later, the harried postmaster arrived with Frerin’s second reply.

The poor Hobbit was quite unprepared to be greeted at Ms. Brandybuck’s door by a _dwarf_ , and certainly not one with more tattoos than teeth, he later claimed, and _such poor manners._   
  
  


_Dear Bella,_

_By the time this letter reaches you, I hope you are feeling much better, and Dwalin has settled in. Should any troubles between you arise, please tell me and I shall write him directly. However, I do believe, despite what my sister says, that Dwalin will come to favor you, if he does not already. You will learn that you are an easy person to like, Bella. I have this on good authority._

_Now that I have more time at my disposal, I shall answer your questions about my craft. My only condition in sharing my secrets is that you will tell me yours. I should like to see the drawings you think so little of. While it is true, some of my kin think those who ply in trades outside of stone and warfare as weaker, I apply to a better philosophy. After all, the bravest warrior I know is the greatest living scholar and statesman of all seven kingdoms. And though I may be biased in my opinion, you may ask Dwalin. He will happily give you all of Balin’s many merits._

_Forgive me, I promised to answer your curiosity. Now that we have an understanding, I feel safe enough to begin._

_As the oldest of my siblings, much has been expected of me all of my life. And while I had the benefit of a fine education, I confess to have abandoned much of what I loved in my youth. It seemed silly to read or craft fine jewels and weaponry, when my kin relied upon me to feed their bellies by my trade. In fact, many of my clan have been forced to adapt their craft to suit what is needed, rather than what we desire. We have not often been met with kindness in the villages and towns of men we came to for work. More often than not we have been met with derision and treated as beggars where once we were regarded royally._

_So you see how the offer of your forge in Bag End was a kindness I can never fully express and barely repay. How I wanted to accept your offer to stay. Were I not the eldest son, and not expected to pick up my father’s responsibilities, I would not have hesitated to say yes_. 

_I have little time of leisure, in truth. And it has been so long since I could think of idle pleasures, I could not begin to know what I would choose to do first. Though I truly do miss my old forge beneath the mountain. To craft fine blades and work with precious gems requires time and focus that I used to lose myself to._

_Since I returned to the Blue Mountains, all my time has been devoted to duty. And so I have found what little I have left to spare writing to my friend of Bag End. The first new friend I have_ _made in years beyond memory. It is a pleasure and comfort to know there is someone beyond my halls who thinks of me only as their friend, and who expects nothing. Besides these letters, of course._

_You must share with me your craft as you can, Bella, and tell me how you spend your days. I am also eager to hear how Dwalin has fared. My sister and Balin also anticipate your report with great amusement._

_I have been seeking that which I looked for much of my life. I have dreamed for so long that there are days when I long to forget and settle for this life in these mountains. Fate, or rather wizards, seem to have their own timing about these things. And so I may yet have chance to seek what was lost soon.  
_

_What is it you search for, Bella?_

  
_In friendship,_

_Frerin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, friend! Apologies for the brief hiatus, I had this one mostly drafted but in need of “stewing” a bit longer before I felt it was ready :) Only a few more chapters to round out Part 1! Next we shall have more letters and more Dwalin & Bella interaction. Thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented, and left kudos so far! See you again soon <3


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